


Sharing

by unwindmyself



Category: True Blood
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, F/M, Other, Switching, Threesome - F/F/M, threesome into twosome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 21:26:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwindmyself/pseuds/unwindmyself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roman isn't a possessive man, and he's not jealous, really.  Nora will try to play nice, but at the end of the night, she knows she can be greedy.  Somehow, this is what Salome expected to happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharing

**Author's Note:**

> The year is 1957, and Nora's trip pertained to [this](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/El_Vampiro), because the Authority likes to keep tabs on vampire-related media.

Lazily draping an arm around Salome’s shoulders and affecting a casual demeanor, Roman inquires, “Have you spoken to Nora since she returned from Mexico?” 

“Not at length,” Salome replies coolly.  It is not unusual for them to shift into talking business in the afterward, but when he brings someone specific up – particularly Nora – it’s for some reason or another, and Salome knows that well. “Why?  Is there something you would like me to ask her?”

This, both prompted by Roman’s not-so-subtle mannerisms and by the fact that if he or anyone needs to get through to Nora about anything personal – which she’s beginning to suspect this will be – they would do well to go through Salome.  Part of it is Salome’s inherent protectiveness of the girl; part of it is Nora’s own natural, albeit selective, reticence.

“How would you feel,” he begins, sounding altogether too practiced in his amiability, “About inviting her to join us some night?”

She chews on her bottom lip for a moment, trying not to giggle.  “Join us here,” she clarifies.  It should likely be a question.

“I must admit, Salome, I didn’t expect you to hesitate,” he says, and indeed he does sound surprised; he lifts her chin to study her reaction, and she in turn studies his rather ruffled one.

It is not hesitation, or at least the kind of hesitation that he means, that is plaguing her; if Roman had ever learned to read her face better, he would know this. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that your intimacy with her was still a secret,” he continues, somewhere between tolerant and baleful.  “I apologize for disrupting the illusion.”

That tone is a cause for her kind of hesitation.

“That was never the intention,” she murmurs, knowing that rolling her eyes would be inappropriate but wanting so much to.  “You know how Nora is.  Intimacy and friendship go hand-in-hand to her.”

“You say that like you think I’m upset by it,” he insists with a chuckle, though it’s strained enough that she suspects it’s at least somewhat false.  (He is not gifted with disguising such things.)  “I’m not.  I thought you would enjoy this.”

“I would,” Salome declares, more resolutely now.  She meets his eyes, offering an innocent smile – all these years, and Roman still thinks those are real.  Whether or not _Nora_ would enjoy this is her concern, but it is not one to raise with him.  “I will make her the offer.”

 

* * *

 

A few nights pass before Nora appears in the doorway, but appear she does, wearing a cocktail dress like armor and playing up the naïveté her blue eyes carry so well.  She has made the journey here so many times, but the change in who awaits her is enough to put her on the defensive, if subtly.  Despite decades and decades of working alongside Roman, she does not consider herself close enough to him to think of him in this way, and even prompting will only achieve so much: she is here because Salome wanted her to be and nothing more.

“Darling,” Salome coos upon seeing her waiting there.  She immediately joins her, takes her hands, kisses each cheek in turn and then her lips for longer than is just a hello; already it’s a bit pretend but, for their own reasons, they want desperately to slide into normalcy.

“Salome,” Nora whispers in reply, soft and almost worshipful.

It’s a voice unlike any Roman has ever heard her use before, more personal than how she prays and more cordial than how she does business, and he’s not sure what he was expecting, but somehow that wasn’t it.

Salome turns back toward the bed, but Nora wraps an arm around her waist to stop her moving and nuzzles against her so their foreheads touch.  Belatedly, or at least it seems so, she meets Roman’s eyes and very cheerfully, politely, and calculatedly, she offers a simple, “Guardian.”

“Please, Nora, that’s not necessary,” he exclaims, far too jovial to seem entirely sincere. 

“Of course, Guardian,” Nora murmurs, and it seems like it’s unavoidable habit, like she’s the shy little girl he sees her to be sometimes.  (That girl is almost wholly fabricated, but he doesn’t know that.)

Titles aren’t necessary, no, but Salome warned him that they might continue to be used until Nora is good and fully comfortable; she thought it best to refrain from mentioning that depending on the moment, they could also be passive-aggression (such as now, she’s suspecting) or high praise in moments of ecstasy (somehow she doubts that will be relevant tonight, at least for him).

Salome squeezes Nora’s hand and leads her forward; her eyes are glittering with hope and mischief and desire, while Nora’s gaze is quickly becoming lusty.  “May we?” Salome asks gently.

Nora murmurs her assent, letting her eyes travel over the pair of older vampires before her and stepping out of her high heels, and Salome motions Roman to join.  Salome unties the sash of Nora’s dress, Roman slides it away from her; Salome tugs on the zipper, Roman prompts Nora to lift her arms so he can pull the dress over her head. 

He lets it fall to the floor carelessly, a heap of black silk at their feet, and in spite of herself Nora whimpers: some of her clothes, many of them in fact, are meant to be thrown about, but this is still a new dress, chosen to impress and worth taking care of.  (That, and she’d rather hoped the foreplay part of the evening would stay fully clothed for longer, she’s realizing.)  Salome can recognize every of Nora’s kittenish little sounds for exactly what they mean, and she makes sure to pick the dress up and lay it over a chair accordingly, shaking her head at Roman.

Maybe, Nora is thinking, she just needs to get involved to get in the mood, maybe she just needs to figure out a plan of action.  The concentrated expression on her face is not born of arousal, though it may seem it (Salome knows the difference, Roman doesn’t), but rather of determination: rarely does Nora meet a challenge she won’t take.  Accordingly, she rips Roman’s shirt open, hurries to strip his pants off, and she’s not exactly thrilling at the sight, but it’s somehow comforting to make him the nakedest one in the room, not even hidden behind intricate, colorful lace like she is.

Over Nora’s shoulder, Roman catches Salome’s eye and smiles, pleased in spite of (or because of) how he doesn’t quite understand Nora’s wildly ricocheting actions; in one swift move, he pulls Nora to him and kisses her violently, and for a moment Salome just watches. 

She can read her protégé’s body language perfectly: the tensing of her muscles, the mechanical way her arm circles Roman’s torso.  For these reasons, she knows she is needed.  “It’s all right, little dove,” she whispers in Nora’s ear, attempting reassurance, and Nora nods almost undetectably (Salome sees it, Roman doesn’t), turning at the waist to kiss the other woman passionately.  It’s a sight the likes of which most men on this earth – vampire, human, or something else entirely – are rarely afforded, Roman knows this much: he’s happy to appreciate it awhile.

“May I look upon your beauty?” Nora whispers shyly, breaking away and casting a secretive smile at Salome.  This still isn’t how Roman is used to hearing her speak: she’s one of the quickest of them to adapt and modernize, ever succinct, rarely so flowery, and in fits of temper even slangy and crass.  From Salome’s reaction, though, it is more than normal to her ears.

“Of course, my sweet,” she intones, reaching for her own zipper to facilitate.  It is Nora’s to slip the scarlet-colored brocade from her body and lovingly trace hands over the curve of her breasts, though.

Maybe all this requires is a change in tactics, Roman thinks, and he moves behind Salome to kiss her throat while Nora caresses her, gazing hungrily.  He slides the strap of Salome’s bustier over her shoulder, but Nora moves it right back into place, meeting his eyes for the first time in a while.

“Patience,” she mutters, and Salome nearly starts laughing: her Nora is rarely patient, at least when dealing with matters like these, so the command strikes her as ironic.

Roman makes a face; he is used to giving orders, not following them, and Nora is after all their guest here, shouldn’t she oblige?  But he can accommodate, he is a diplomat.  Salome turns to kiss him in gratitude, and he places a hand on her waist, uses his other to find Nora’s while _her_ other brushes hair away from Salome’s neck so she can nip at the exposed flesh, growling low in the back of her throat. 

While the sound surprises Roman – even in her most forward moments, Nora is rarely so primal, at least that he's seen – it also arouses him, and he tightens his grip on her and on Salome both, thinking that perhaps this is to be that sort of encounter.

Oblivious to Roman’s hand at her waist, Salome reaches to stroke Nora’s cheek, pull the pins from her hair so it tumbles down messily, and bring her close to kiss.  Nora gently wrenches her hand from Roman’s to grab at Salome, making it seem a natural progression and not a slight (though it’s likely both).

“Bed,” she orders – there’s no better way to describe it, the tone of her voice is equal parts forceful and cautioning.  Entwined, the women trip toward the curtained four-poster, both giggling – Nora’s laugh high and bell-like, Salome’s a throaty alto – and Salome pulls Roman along, seeming almost to be doing it in afterthought.

He hadn’t imagined that Nora would be the one in charge here, compliant as (he thinks) she is, and yet the second he’s acclimatized himself to the idea, Salome is pushing her back onto the bedcovers and straddling her hips, quite literally getting back on top.  This switching is regular as can be to them, but Roman, who likes things defined much more clearly, cannot really understand.

“Let me taste you,” Nora pants urgently, propping herself up on her elbows.

It could be meant either way, Salome knows this, but she is still intent on everybody playing nice, so she turns to glance at Roman pointedly, inviting him to join in; Nora sees this and, in the interest of maintaining calm, smiles at him placidly, _yes, all right, if you like._ As Salome leans forward to grant Nora access to her throat, Roman climbs beside them and brings Nora’s wrist to his lips: she bites and is bitten all at once.

Nora feeds on Salome like she feeds on no one else: she takes pleasure in it always, there is no doubt, but not quite so voraciously or so raptly. They cannot survive on this, not really, but Nora drinks Salome down as if her life and her happiness depended on it.  The fervor written on her face is somehow foreign.

“My little love,” Salome whispers.  She pulls back just long enough to get Nora whining – it’s a game, Roman can deduce this much – and then goes to sink her fangs into Nora’s throat.  Once again they’ve switched, and once again Roman is more curious than anything.

Nora cries out sharply, her legs twitching, and just as she’s settling into being fed on (this way – she has barely seemed to register Roman’s attentions to her wrist) Salome kisses her roughly, their blood and lips and tongues mingling.  The kiss lasts longer than the others, long enough that Roman begins to feel a bit perplexed, downright put out when Nora yanks her arm away from him once more to dig her fingernails into the exposed skin of Salome’s shoulders.

With the hand not currently in Nora’s hair, Salome gestures to Roman directorially; he shifts behind them, strokes the flesh between each woman’s legs in turn.  Salome pulls Nora to sitting, intending perhaps to find a position to accommodate all three of them, but Nora throws her arms around Salome’s shoulders, continues their kissing with little regard to that accommodation.

Roman is starting to feel like he’s out of his element, like he needs to improvise.  He goes to grasp Nora’s wrists, to bring all of their bodies closer together he thinks, but she squirms frantically at that.  Now her tugging away is intentional, no mistaking it, and she flops back against the pillows with a frown.  Salome, of course, knows that such things are one of Nora’s pet peeves, at least with those she does not yet trust in this way, and she gives Roman a look that tells him as much.

He will not be deterred, though, and it’s only slightly petulantly that he scoots down and positions himself between Nora’s legs and asks, attempting some modicum of linguistic fanciness like the women had been sharing, “Would you rather I tend to you this way?”

Nora nods, also not-but-clearly-really petulant, and spreads her legs farther to allow this.  (Awful as it is, once a face is between her legs, it doesn’t always matter whose it is.)  Salome is privately surprised by his making this offer – Roman is not prone to suggesting cunnilingus – and she is just as surprised by Nora’s acceptance – she accepts this gladly, but not often from someone she’s as wary of as she is proving to be of Roman.  She assumes they’re both attempting compromise, and for this, she is thankful.

As Roman starts, Nora makes herself comfortable against the pillows and moves her hands to Salome’s hips.  Within seconds, the older vampire has let herself be brought farther forward, has repositioned herself so she’s just above Nora’s head. 

 “Salome, my queen,” Nora whispers, and she pulls Salome down onto her mouth, immediately beginning to lick at her sex.  Privately, Roman is glad neither woman sees the titillated but largely shocked expression that flashes over his face for a moment.

It’s not long before Salome has begun to moan, her back arching as she rides Nora’s face; determined not to be outdone, Roman concentrates all the more on getting sounds like that from Nora, and sure, there’s an almost surprised sounding whimper or two, but all they seem to do ultimately is drive her to work at Salome even more intently.

Salome is starting to realize this, and starting somewhat in spite of herself to enjoy it.  Considering that even his attempts at just giving pleasure, far between as they are, often have selfish undertones, there’s a certain poetic justice to this.  “I want you,” she begins, her voice husky, “To do everything to me that he does to you.  Can you do that for me, Nora?”

That awakens Nora’s competitive spirit, and her eyes flash wildly, she hums approval against Salome’s flesh.  What it means, and Salome knows this, she’d planned for it, is _I’ll do everything to you that he does to me and better_.  If there is a loser in this scenario, it won’t be either of the women.

He’s not _bad_ at this, Nora will allow that much, but (perhaps given the oddly detailed sense memory she has for the few instances of exceptional oral she’s gotten) he’s nothing special, either.  Every time his tongue darts to her clit, her tongue goes to Salome’s and lingers, tracing tiny circles; every time he trails his over her folds, she slides hers between Salome’s for twice as long. 

It’s not his fault, really.  She has an almost unfair advantage in this little contest they’ve entered into.

When Salome bends back to fondle Nora’s breast, tweaking her nipple through the lace of her bra, Nora’s hips jerk up; she presses fingers into Salome’s thigh, lets out more of a whine than she has since Roman went down on her.  At first, he doesn’t register why, and thinks he’s done something miraculously right, but when she lifts her leg, drapes it over his shoulder like he’s a conveniently located pillow, he starts to think otherwise.

He didn’t expect this feeling either, but he’s starting to realize that he really should have.

This keeps up awhile, and Roman knows he’s lost the contest when Salome cries out low and ecstatic and lets her head fall back, ever worshipful in her orgasms.  “ _Mia dolce principessa_ ,” she husks once she’s come down, looking straight into Nora’s eyes and sliding back to kneel above the other woman’s torso.  Roman is puzzled: he speaks Italian just as well as they do, and they both know that, so it can’t be a secret code of some sort, but – what, then?  Simply switching languages out of passion too great?

She never switches languages when he brings her to orgasm.

Salome puts her fingers to Nora’s lips, wiping away what of her own wetness remains there, and Nora grabs and sucks each finger clean, grinning; this, of course, makes Salome lovingly chide, “Greedy.”

“I’ll have every last drop of you that I’m allowed,” Nora beams.

“And I you, my pet,” Salome murmurs. 

“Is that a promise?” Nora asks mischievously.

“It is if –” Here, she turns her head to involve Roman once more, finds him not between Nora’s legs as she’d thought but standing by one of the bedposts with a disgruntled expression; she almost wants to laugh, and clearly Nora is a few seconds from doing so herself.  “If that’s all right?”

_Well, you’re going to do it no matter what, no need to pretend for politeness’s sake._

_Oh, so now you’re noticing._

“Do whatever you want to her,” he says instead, trying to keep the edge out of his voice.  He doesn’t unfold his arms, nor does he attempt a smile, but the words are permission enough.  Salome scoots back into the space Roman abandoned who knows how long ago, positioning her legs around Nora’s hips and Nora’s legs around her waist. 

“Thank you, Guardian,” Nora says sweetly, leaning her head to the side to smile at Roman.  It’s as good as the “fuck off, please,” that she’d offer almost anyone else in this situation.  Salome nods, not trusting herself to respond appropriately, and once she hears Roman fumble for his clothes and make his exit, she lets herself meet Nora’s eyes again while they finally let out the laughter they’ve been suppressing.

“When did you notice he’d pulled away?” Salome asks as she idly toys with Nora’s breasts.

“You’ll think me awful for saying it, but about when you did,” Nora whispers, smirking.  “I admit, after a while I rather – tuned him out.  I had other things to focus on.”  Her expression turns devious, and she brings her body closer to Salome’s.  “Other much more important things.”

Salome nods.  “Naturally,” she says, tracing her hands down Nora’s body.  “As I do now.”

“You aren’t upset,” Nora not-quite-asks.  “That it didn’t go as planned.”

“It was an experiment,” Salome shrugs.  “It went largely as expected.”   She taps Nora’s nose playfully before focusing her attentions elsewhere, her expression innocent as if to suggest the movement of her hands against Nora’s clit is an afterthought (this coolness being one of Salome’s many tricks for teasing and drawing it out).  “I rather suspected you would have trouble sharing.”

“Sharing you, anyway,” Nora says, trying to disguise the catch in her voice.  “I think it should count for _something_ that I tried, though!”

Salome lifts one of Nora’s hands, presses a kiss to her palm.  “It does, my love.”  Her eyes darken, the affected coolness all but disappears.  “And you shall be rewarded in kind.”

 

* * *

 

When Roman ventures to return a few hours later, he’s both surprised and not to see that Nora is only just leaving, practically skipping out of there.  She’s all but naked, holding the dress that she’s resigned by now to wrinkling to her chest to prevent the most scandalous possibilities (a relative term, of course), she’s teetering in her barely-slipped-on pumps, there are lines of blood down her neck and shoulder as if drawn on by a child’s crayon, she’s got a absolutely silly smile on her face. 

In this moment, he thinks, an outsider wouldn’t take her for a chancellor of the Authority at all.  She looks like – like a stupid girl, like one of the humans they feed on.

Nonetheless, he nods tersely at her as she passes, and she waggles her fingers at him in return.  He’s not sure he’d have any words for her even if he wanted to, and she seems content in the knowledge that all that needs shared has already been.  As she disappears down the corridor, he lets himself back into the room, eying Salome as she reclines on the bed.

“Well,” he says simply.

“It was an experiment,” Salome returns, more cautiously than she had with Nora.  _Don’t blame yourself_ is the unspoken addition here; even if it’s somewhat of a lie, it’s a necessary one.

“Yes,” he agrees.  “Next time, don’t bother with the formality of inviting me.”

She doesn’t say that strictly speaking, said formality had been his idea in the first place.  Instead, she nods, adopting an appropriately chastised expression like she knows is expected of her.

“In fact,” he continues, “Don’t even bother telling me more than is absolutely necessary.”  _I was happier not knowing_ , she suspects he means.

“As you wish,” Salome agrees, turning her head to hide her smirk.  This wasn’t according to plan, but now she’s thinking it might have gone better even than expected.


End file.
